


The Benefactor

by EarlGreyEvenings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deviates From Canon, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Mild Sexual Content, No Underage Sex, Rich Harry Potter, Riddle at Hogwarts Era, The Deathly Hallows, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29412252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarlGreyEvenings/pseuds/EarlGreyEvenings
Summary: Tom asked eagerly, "Will you teach me how to appearate long distances without dying?""If you'd like," Hadrian gave him a warm smile, "I'll teach you anything you wish if you decide to accept my offer "Tom didn't tell him that he'd do just about anything to get out of the Orphanage, or that he had already decided to accept Hadrian's offer the moment he'd healed his hand. If Hadrian hadn't figured it out from how quickly he went off to another country with a stranger, then Tom wouldn't be so undignified as to say as such out loud.Aka, Tom Riddle aquires a wealthy benefactor and gets the evil screwed out of him. Or, the golden trio tries to quell the murderous tendencies of teen voldie before it's too late with varying degrees of success. Or, the tomarry sugar daddy au no one wanted or needed, but here we are anyways.This fic is divorced from canon. Go rot in a mushroom pit JK rowling.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 62
Kudos: 402





	1. A strange encounter

****

**Summertime 1943**

Tom Riddle winced as the heavy gardening shears nicked his slim fingers, dropping the tool in the soil as he hurried to put his bloodied throbbing fingers in his mouth. His blood quickly coated his tongue, coppery, salty, and metallic. The bitter taste made his stomach curl up. He took his fingers out of his mouth, and grimaced at the sight of the crimson wound as it leaked in dark red rivers down the pinky and ring finger of his dominant hand. His pinky had a v shaped slice that broke through the nail and it pulsed with pain, while his ring finger only had a long stinging gash across the top of his finger. The rest of his hand had been left untouched. The wound stung like mad, his hand shook with an aching raw soreness. The blood had begun to run in thick dripping lines down his arm. It got caught in the crook of his elbow, staining the white cuff of his rolled up shirt, and dripped down in tiny glistening drops that collected into a tiny shimmering burgundy pool at his feet. The shears had a dark rubescent stain across the iron blades. Morbidly Tom stared at a few drops that had clung to the white petaled roses he'd been trimming for Matron Cole. He wondered if he could die from such a small but deep cut, not likely but he could hope for, and fear the possibility in equal measure. Not for the first time, he wished he could do magic outside of Hogwarts.

"Oh dear!"

His hand was snatched up in the gloved hand of a stranger, and Tom fought his instinctual need to recoil away from the touch. It wasn't hard, honestly, though it should have been. The stranger had very gentle soothing hands. Soft slender leather-clad fingers that felt like they'd fit perfectly entwined in his own. The stranger rubbed soothing circles on Tom's thumb as he used a silky black handkerchief to wrap around Tom's injured hand. It was the first time Tom could remember touch being anything other than painful, and he fought to keep from blushing. He tore his gaze away from his hand and looked up at the stranger wrapping his fingers with such care. Tom felt his face redden further, his heart pounding.

He was _gorgeous_.

The stranger was a slender, taller man, and not much older than Tom himself, if the youthfulness of his face was any indication. Maybe early to mid twenties, he thought. He was dressed in a sleek black suit, though his dark emerald green dress shirt was left uncovered under the slim waistcoat. At his wrists he wore golden cuff links inlaid with dark green malachite, and at the peaks of his collar he wore matching lapel pins, which connected across his black tie with delicate golden chains. His black waistcoat and trousers had thin pinstripes of golden thread that caught the light like faint stars, with emerald and gold buttons down the front of his vest, accentuating an hourglass waist, and it had long dark green ties down the back like Tom had seen on the corsets worn by the women in the magical world. Tom wondered if the man was wearing a corset, or if that was why his waist was so thin and lovely, but he definitely appreciated the overall affect.

He was certainly well dressed, and probably rich judging by the quality of his suit. As if that wasn't enough, he was also incredibly attractive. The stranger had warm, flawless, sun-kissed olive skin. The color of strong tea with just a small splash of cream. A smattering of pale barely visible freckles crossed over his cheeks, like faint warpaint. His hair, black as spilled ink, was pulled up into a stylishly messy low bun, framing a thin, angular, kind face. A few strands had escaped, falling across his face like a shadow over his eyes, half concealing a faint jagged scar. It looked a bit like lightning, Tom thought, and he wished he could push aside his silky black hair to see it fully, to see if it looked as much like lightning as he imagined it would. Oddly, the stranger wore chains on his thick black-framed glasses. Similar to the ones Tom had seen old ladies in church wear, and yet they were much prettier on him than they ever looked on anyone else he'd seen. They were delicate golden chains, decorated with a few green stones that sparkled in the afternoon sun by his high sharp cheekbones, two tiny diamond shaped emeralds on either side of a slightly smaller round bead of malachite. None much bigger than the head of a pin.

"There, that should do it." The stranger said, seemingly satisfied with his handy work, and he looked up and gave Tom a winning smile, "You should be more careful, darling."

His eyes were as green as the emeralds dangling from his glasses, framed in long thick black eyelashes, as piercing as a basilisk's stare. Tom stood, frozen, flushed, struck speechless. His teeth were sharp and pearl white, and the crooked charming smile on his pretty face made Tom fight the sudden urge to grab the stranger by the tie and pull his closer so he could show him how thankful he was.

Morbidly, Tom thought maybe Matron Cole was right to call him a godless devil child all his life, for here he stood, lusting over a man who he hadn't even thought to ask a name from. And why, because he was a little nice? Because he was good-looking? He was probably a muggle too, which would absolutely slaughter Tom's reputation in Hogwarts, something he couldn't risk now that he'd scared his house into submission by releasing a basilisk on the school. He wasn't going to waste all the effort and the, albiet accidental, death of that half-blood girl no one liked, to completely ruin himself over a kind pretty-faced muggle, no matter how delicious said muggle looked.

"Who are you?"

The silent spell broke as the no-nonsense voice of Matron Cole cut through the yard, and Tom startled, tearing his hand out of the stranger's grip. He hadn't even noticed the man hadn't let go. Mrs. Cole glared at them both, hands on her hips, her face red in a way that was either anger or drunkenness. Probably both.

The man offered her a raised eyebrow, and gave her a disgusted once over. "Are you the Matron of this dismal place?" He asked authoritatively, no trace of the kind calm voice he'd used to offer soothing words of comfort as he'd wrapped up Tom's bloodied hand.

"I am." Matron Cole offered curtly. "Who're you then?"

The man stood before her and reached into his briefcase, Tom hadn't noticed it before. Black and just as elegant as the rest of his clothes. He offered her a thin stack of papers bound together with in a dark grey folder tied closed with a navy blue ribbon.

"My name is Hadrian Peverell," the man greeted, and Tom's eyes widened at the ancient well-respected magical surname, "I am here to collect Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle, the paperwork is already completed, and you need not concern yourself further."

Upon snatching the papers out of his hand with an offended look, Matron Cole seemed to enter a trace-like state. Her pupils widened so that only a thin line of murky hazel ringed them, and she giggled girlishly. Mrs. Cole gave Tom a bright, dizzy smile, and wandered off as if in a daze, humming a high almost haunting tune as she stumbled drunkenly away, giggling, spinning, like a mental patient. Mr. Peverell looked at his gloved hand as if disgusted and subtly wiped it against his thigh.

"You're here for me?" Tom asked, a little wary now. Whatever he'd done to the Matron had been eerie, a spell he'd never seen the like of, and Tom knew he couldn't underestimate him. Though his competence was another point of attraction. Tom liked people with strength and talent.

The man blinked, as if shocked. "Are you Mr. Riddle?"

"Tom," he corrected, he despised his surname more than his too common first name. He offered his uninjured hand to shake. "Why are you here?"

He worried for a moment that the well dressed wizard would tell him that he was there to take him to Azkaban, that somehow someone found out about his involvement with the chamber of secrets and Myrtle's death, but the older wizard gave him another soft reassuring smile. The suspicious terror dissipated as fast as it had arrived.

"Tom," his name sounded like ambrosia from those rosey lips, like it was special instead of common, "You can call me Hadrian, or Harry if you'd like. I'm here to offer to be your benefactor."

"My what?" Tom blinked, his hand still awkwardly hanging between them. 

"Benefactor." Hadrian Peverell waved his hand dismissively, then all of a sudden his vibrant eyes widened. "Oh gosh, I'm an idiot."

He snatched up Tom's other hand and unwound the black silk from his fingers. Before Tom could so much as breathe or protest, his fingers were healed, only a faint, pale, pinkish white scar in it's place, like mother of pearl. Even the blood was gone, along the dizziness, burgeoning migraine, and nausea that the blood loss had been causing. He hadn't used a wand or said a spell out loud. Purposeful, silent, wandless spell casting. Tom felt parched, his mouth dry as a desert. Hadrian pressed his bloodied handkerchief into Tom's fingers, and he clenched the silk possessively, to keep from doing something stupid. 

"Best not let another witch hold your blood if you don't know and trust them with your life." Hadrian advised, cleaning his blood from the gloves. "Never let another hold such power over you."

Tom shook off the haze of obsessive want, the part of him that desired to try to fill the aching lonely void that had been left with the creation of his horcrux, the urge to have the man shove him against the nearest wall, as if that would heal the screaming of his broken soul. It wouldn't, but his impulse control had waned considerably. There had been many unpleasant side affects to ensuring his immortality, but he knew he'd eventually fix those. He just needed time.

"What did you mean by Benefactor?" Tom asked, his voice steady, not giving away the hurricane of complicated feelings brewing inside him.

"Exactly as it sounds," Hadrian Peverell hadn't let go of his hand, he was still rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on the top of Tom's hand. "You are by far the most talented student to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts, and I would hate to see you waste your potential because the Hogwarts scholarship can not provide you with the tools to challenge yourself. Not only that, but with the war as it is, I confess I am worried about your continued well fare. I don't know what Dippet was thinking sending you, or any student, back to the muggle world. We may be a new department but students were supposed to be informed that DRYAD is offering sanctuary to our muggle-born and muggle-raised students in these dangerous times."

Tom tilted his head with a confused frown. "What in the world is DRYAD?"

Hadrian stared at him for a second, his expressive green eyes showing concerned confusion. "DRYAD." He said, "The Department of Regional Youth Academics, Diagon Alley branch." At Tom's blank look he dropped Tom's hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, knocking his glasses just slightly askew. He fixed the frames. "I can see this is going to be a longer conversation than I had been expecting. Would you care to accompany me for some tea? There's a lovely cafe in the magical district of Marseilles with red velvet cake that is simply to die for."

He offered his arm with a charming smile. Tom stared at the bleak dilapidated orphanage just behind him and then turned back to Hadrian Peverell with a hesitant smile. He looped his arm through Hadrian's. What did he have to lose really? They disappeared without a sound, not even the usual crack of appearation.


	2. The Café

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11:59 is still March 08 lol 💀💜💀😅😅😅😅😅
> 
> Feel free to point out mistakes. I'm writing on my phone and it sucks so bad.

****

**Summertime 1943**

Tom Riddle hissed as the they appeared in an empty, dim, and slightly musty alleyway. Tom was intensely grateful for the fact that Hadrian hadn't popped them in the middle of a crowd, because the wave of dizziness and nausea that flooded through him was so intense he nearly blacked out. His ears rung like air raid sirens, the light stung his eyes like acid, and there was an odd metallic taste in his mouth similar to his own blood. His mouth felt hot, saliva building up, acid burning in the back of his throat. Tom stumbled drunkenly, swayed as if on a ship, and then tipped over. Luckily, the cold unforgiving asphalt never reached him, a pair of hands caught him by the shoulders and pulled him back against a strong lithe chest.

"Careful," Hadrian Peverell comforted, his deep soft voice unusually relaxing, "Just breathe through it. The effects will wear of momentarily. I'm sorry, I did not remember to warn you about the affects of long distance appearation. I swear that it gets better with enough practice, it's only this bad the first couple times. I should have warned you."

Tom buried his face into the cold silk of Hadrian's shirt, comforted by his scent and the darkness his embrace provided, and the man rubbed soothing circles on his back, murmuring softly in an unfamiliar language. The words were soothing, soft spoken, and Tom was inordinately grateful that he didn't have to focus on the words themselves. He let Hadrian's voice wash over him, a low hum in the background, keeping him grounded even though he felt a bit like he was underwater. Tom felt the dizziness, nausea, and migraine slowly start to fade away. He waited long after the effects had worn off from unbearable to a gentle almost bruised throbbing; greedily breathing in the comforting mix of petrichor, ozone, vanilla, and spices that made up Hadrian's scent, but there was only so long he could excuse as aftermath of the long distance travel without being obvious. Tom was too dignified to linger so obviously, and after a few lasting moments he pulled reluctantly from the warm calming embrace.

"Better?" Hadrian asked sweetly.

"Yes," Tom's voice was oddly hoarse, "I've never reacted that way to appearation before."

"I don't doubt it, but even so, international appearation takes an immeasurable toll on even the strongest of wixen." Hadrian consoled,"You'll feel better after some tea and sugar."

Tom rolled his eyes, unseen by Hadrian, but he didn't point out that international appearation was impossible. Nor did he point out that even attempting to appearate a greater distance than two hundred sixty kilometers would cause massive internal bleeding, blindness, and severe magical exhaustion. Marseilles was at least four times that distance from London. It was better to let Hadrian eat his own words, without Tom being unnecessarily mocking. He liked the man, but he hated unnecessary bragging, especially when it was unearned. Pride was one thing, but overestimating ones abilities was something Tom couldn't abide. Tom was glad to have kept his mouth shut when, a few moments later, Hadrian led him out of the bustling streets of Marseilles, as if he hadn't broken several magical laws effortlessly. Tom only barely kept from visibly showing his incredulity as he took in the sight of the Abbaye Saint-Victor.

"Impressive." He said, and then cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. Tom turned to Hadrian and asked eagerly, "Will you teach me how to appearate long distances like that without dying?"

"If you'd like," Hadrian gave him a warm indulgent smile, "I'll teach you anything you wish if you decide to accept my offer."

Tom didn't tell him that he'd do just about anything to get out of the orphanage, or that he had already decided to accept Hadrian's offer the moment he'd healed his hand in the garden. If Hadrian hadn't figured it out from how quickly and readily he went off to another country with a complete stranger, then Tom wouldn't be so undignified as to say as such out loud. He refused to suffer that humiliation.

A few blocks later, they stood in front of a small grey stone building, two stories tall with a steepled roof, dark wood aside from one large glass window that made up the wall of one side, letting in sunshine to an open room. Through the window he could just barely see a pair of cosy looking black arm chairs, a full bookshelf, and a pretty black coffee table with a potted fern on it. The homey, victorian inspired, cottage had large circular windows with black framing, and ivy clung to the stones, so thick you could hardly see through it to the dark stones below. A black sign shaped like a tea cup and saucer hung over the teal blue door. It read Café Tasseography in golden cursive, and ivy hung from the metal hooks that held it in long curled curtains. There was an aura of magical energy that surrounded the café that was so thick that Tom felt instantly warm and welcome, and a feeling of placidity washed over him. He looked around and realized that, much like the Leaky Cauldron, the muggles seemed to be completely unaware of the small café.

"It's very Hufflepuff." Tom stated, meaning cosy and full of plants, and Hadrian chuckled, though he didn't offer any explanation to the plants as he ushered Tom into the building.

Much like what little he could see through the attic window, the walls were covered in full dark wood bookshelves, filled to the brim with books stacked in no particular order, and small potted plants and huge crystals were randomly placed on the shelves. There were many text books, story books, and even some spell journals crammed into the shelves. One wall contained an entire wide shelf filled with scrolls. Some of the books were rare, some so rare Tom had to wonder how they had been aquired. Some of them were illegal in Britain, though legal in France. It was better than the Hogwarts Library, and the manor libraries of his closest acquaintances, even though all of the books were on light or neutral magic. On one wall, half hidden by the tall bookshelves, was a small black door that read bathroom in loopy gold cursive on the door. The back of the cafe had a low counter with a glass display case showing slices of cake, scones, muffins, and more. Behind it, was an open clean kitchen, and there were shelves filled with purple jars with labels showing thousands of tea varieties, spices, and coffees. The café smelled like books, soil, sugar, spices, and magic, and it was filled with customers. Some were reading, others chatting over tea in many different languages, mostly French and English, but he caught some speaking in German, Mandarin, Welsh, and Polish too. There were others whose languages he didn't recognize by sound, and even one couple speaking in shrill mermish over pretty purple tarts. Tom didn't want to ever leave.

"Technically this was supposed to be my summer home," Hadrian casually commented, unprompted, "thats why there's so many plants and books and such, but when the original café burned down last summer I redesigned so that Hermione and Luna could run the café out of it. I live at the academy most of the year anyways, so I was glad to see the place being appreciated. It does get a bit cramped when I'm here though, which is why I suggest we do our meeting in my flat above the café. Unless you'd prefer to discuss in the café for safety reasons. Whatever makes you feel more comfortable, honestly."

Tom was momentarily struck speechless, unsure where to even start. He had many questions, more after Hadrian's nonchalant comment, including curiosity over the academy Hadrian had mentioned, but he answered the question after the slight pause, resolving to ask everything that came to mind once they were in a more private setting.

"I don't mind going to your flat." He said, though he was a tiny bit nervous about the informality of the location.

He wondered if Hadrian meant "sugar daddy" when he said benefactor. Tom definitely didn't mind the idea, even though it definitely would cause some issues if it ever got out to his fellow Slytherins. He wondered if Hadrian would be expecting compensation for his help immediately or after he reached the age of majority. It was a pretty important question.

Hadrian led him to the counter, unaware of his inner turmoil. Instantly, though Tom had no clue where she came from, a short woman with bushy dark brown hair, warm chocolate eyes, and the darkest skin he'd ever seen appeared behind the counter. He blinked at her sudden arrival, momentarily startled. She was wearing a black frilly apron covered in flour and there was a streak of red batter was on her cheek. The apron hadn't protected the sleeves of her purple blouse, or the black trousers she was wearing. Tom had never seen a witch in trousers, at least not without a robe over it, and he fought to keep his expression neutral. It wasn't his business what women wore anyways. A slightly taller woman with corn silk blonde hair held up in two buns with knitting needles, the bottom half cut short against her head, pale cream skin, and silvery blue eyes that seemed to stare into the depths of his soul joined her at the counter. She wore an identical apron over a set of sunflower yellow robes, as well as a necklace of butter beer corks and a purple badge which read S.P.E.W.

"Harry!" The black girl greeted happily. She leaned over the table and they exchanged a hug and a kiss to each cheek. Her greeting was mirrored by the blonde a moment later. The only difference was that the blonde witch told Hadrian that he had nargles nesting in his hair, a comment that went ignored, or at least Hadrian deemed not to comment or explain.

"It's wonderful to see you." He greeted, and Tom wondered if Hadrian had been gone a while or if they had. The greeting was not one for people who had seen each other earlier in the day, but more like the greeting of people who had not seen each other in a few days or even weeks. "I thought you were not going to be home until Sunday night."

"Hermione needed to get back, so we cut the trip short." The blonde answered, gesturing to her brunette companion. Tom guessed that if the shorter girl was Hermione, then that must make the other girl Luna.

"Ronald nearly burned the kitchen down." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Again."

Hadrian frowned. "I thought the elves banned him from the kitchen."

"They did." Hermione answered, looking rather put out. She turned to Tom, catching up apparently over, and gave him a bright smile. She had perfect teeth. Tom had literally never seen teeth as straight or white as hers. "Good afternoon, what can I get you?"

Despite the recommendation of red velvet cake, Tom decided to order a raspberry lemon tart and black tea. Hadrian ordered the red velvet and earl grey tea, and requested that they send two full tea pots up. The girls agreed and sent them on their way after letting Hadrian know they'd be up to inquire about supper later. Tom suspected that meant the meeting would be taking a while. He hoped he could convince Hadrian to get him a room, rather than being sent back to the orphanage. Tom could slip away to Abraxus or Orion's summer manors if they stayed in France. He was certain he could be charming enough to convince the man, especially if he found a way to stretch the time out so the meeting took a long time, and ended after dark.

They made their way behind the counter to the back of the kitchen, where a thin spiral staircase led upstairs. As they began walking, Hadrian spoke, "Hermione and Luna co-run Café Tasseography, but during the school year Hermione is in charge of monitoring the brightest students of each of the major eleven schools of magic, both sixth and seventh years, to determine if they are eligible for joining the DRYAD pre-graduation program. The top seven students of each school are evaluated over their fifth year, and over the summer offered entrance into the pre-graduation program with a benefactor, which I will explain momentarily. Upon graduation from their sixth year, they are given a test, whittling it down to the top three students in their seventh year, and after graduation the top student is given an opportunity to enter our post-graduate program. I'm your assigned benefactor, and I expect great things from you dear."

At this point they had reached the door, and Tom decided to save his questions for after they were inside, a little overwhelmed by what little he had been explained already. Hadrian paused his lecture to knock in a specific pattern with his wand in the center of the door. Then he drew a circle clockwise three times with his wand. A sigil glowed brightly where he'd circled, periwinkle blue, and then his door clicked open with a low creaking. Tom followed him in, the door swinging shut of it's own accord.

Hadrian's flat had bookshelf walls just like the café downstairs but Tom noted that at least a quarter of the books were illegal in several countries, some were punishable by death or life in Azkaban for owning or even attempting to buy them, while others were supposed to have had all of the copies destroyed long ago. Necromancy, blood magic, ancient rituals, dark and forbidden magic beyond his wildest dreams; all sitting neatly on the shelves. Tom would give up vital organs just to touch sone if these books. He knew people who would die to even stand in the same room as some of the tomes and journals so casually displayed in this room.

Pots of flowers, ferns, and house plants were sitting on the shelves, and on stands throughout the room. Lavender was growing near the blood magic books, strawberries were sitting on the center table, spider plants hung in pots from the ceiling; there were more plants than Tom felt like counting, providing greenery in every corner and available nook of the room. Crystals and stones sat upon the shelves, alongside skulls, animal and human, and on one wall he saw an open door, though the room was too dark to see in.

By the window were the armchairs he'd seen earlier, along with their snacks and tea. Two pots of tea, one set black with gold set with the red velvet, and another clear intricate crystal matching the plate his tart sat upon, along with a silver tray with a sugar bowl, cream pitcher, honey pot, and silverware. He stared for a brief moment at the pretty deserts, his tart with it's dark golden crust, bright yellow lemon custard with raspberries arranged in a crescent moon shape, with pretty purple violets sprinkled over top of it. The red velvet was deep ruby in color, with a thin line of white frosting and strawberries between the layers, and fresh strawberries sliced and arranged artfully atop it instead of frosting, drizzled in thin lines of white chocolate. Tom felt his stomach rumble, his mouth watering, but he forced himself to continue to check out the room. Opposite of the chairs, in the corner farthest from the window, a bed sat upon an elegant metal frame, black silk sheets with matching pillow cases peaking out under a thick black brocade quilt. Upon the bed lay a tiny dragon the size of a small kitten or rat, pale green in color, with tiny long ears, curled feathery antennae, small pinkish horns, a fluffy chest, a long tail, and long delicate looking lunar moth-like wings.

"What is that?" Tom found himself asking, fascinated by the small creature, disregarding the conversation they were meant to be having.

"That's Tsavorite, my Dragon Moth." Hadrian answered, softly scratching it's head. "Although strictly speaking she's a dragon so it should be Moth Dragon, but it rolled off the tongue better in reverse so we named them Dragon Moths instead. They were once considered pests in the states, long ago, and had been hunted to near extinction. They are a protected species now, and it's not technically legal to own one, but she's my familiar so she's the exception to that rule. I'm in contact with a dragon reserve in Nova Scotia, working to breed these cuties, but Tsavorite is uninterested in males of her species and isn't much use in that capacity. Heliodor is around here somewhere too. Probably sleeping in the potions room again. Or in the coyote skull. She loves sleeping in that skull for some reason."

Tom watched as the tiny creature yawned and stretched, twitching her ear, before flopping her butterfly wing-like tail over her eyes. "She's beautiful." He praised, then he made his way to the chair and poured himself some tea with lemon and honey.

He took a bite of his dessert, and nearly melted in his chair in bliss. It was a perfect balance of sour and sweet, golden buttery crust, sour sweet lemon, fresh vibrant raspberries, and sweet floral violets. He nearly moaned, _nearly_ , it was a close thing.

Hadrian gathered the tiny dragon up from the bed and she made a tiny protesting trill, shifting in his hand. He crossed the room and she resituated herself on his lap once he sat down. Hadrian did nothing to his tea, leaving it plain and unsweetened. Tom took a sip, perfectly brewed. It was the best tea he'd had in his life.

"So," Tom said, he set his teacup down, no longer stalling, "tell me about this pre-graduation program you mentioned."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> [Tsavorite Inspiration](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/31b10457-76db-4205-9239-ed744e64abc3/d8ek429-5ec7eafd-a6b6-4382-bb7b-bce3e458395d.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOiIsImlzcyI6InVybjphcHA6Iiwib2JqIjpbW3sicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvMzFiMTA0NTctNzZkYi00MjA1LTkyMzktZWQ3NDRlNjRhYmMzXC9kOGVrNDI5LTVlYzdlYWZkLWE2YjYtNDM4Mi1iYjdiLWJjZTNlNDU4Mzk1ZC5qcGcifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6ZmlsZS5kb3dubG9hZCJdfQ.SghKDD45In6vDUtzGPrrizNCWA86LjevgSN_u8RRy5U)  
>  **
> 
> **  
> [Heliodor Inspiration](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/f1/e9/85/f1e98579cf2f7a62d221ccc98cd746c3.jpg)  
>  **


End file.
